


Bound to Be Good

by ThayerKerbasy



Series: The Misadventures of Growley and Squirrel [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Bondage, Demon Dean, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, POV Crowley, Post-Episode: s09e23 Do You Believe In Miracles?, Pre-Episode: s10e01 Black, Smut, Sparky's Toy Closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 14:32:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9329132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThayerKerbasy/pseuds/ThayerKerbasy
Summary: What should have been a simple night of pleasure for everyone had grown complicated.  Talking things out with Dean wasnotgoing to happen.  Good thing Crowley already had private plans involving Sparky.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pimento](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pimento/gifts).



> I've decided not to use the Porn Without Plot tag. Yes, this fic is mostly smutty porn, but let's be real here. I'm writing about Dean and Crowley's Summer of Love. A large portion of that is going to be smut. Porn literally IS the plot. There will be actual porn-free plot eventually, but in the meantime, I refuse to pretend that this is any less plot than that.  
> As before, it helps to read this series from the beginning if you care at all about continuity (I reference events from prior installments in this series) but if you're only here for the smut, don't let me stand in your way. Either way, I'd love to hear from you when you reach the end.

The hot tub had been a wonderful idea. Weeks’ worth of stress had melted away under the hot water, aided in no small part by Bear’s clever hands; the entirely willing devoted servitude afterwards was icing on an already delicious cake. The whole experience would have been perfect had it not been for Dean. Of course Dean had done nothing more than to enjoy the same treatment Crowley had enjoyed, but that wasn’t the point. The point was something Crowley couldn’t articulate and it was easier to just blame it all on Dean.

Climbing the stairs in Sparky’s cabin caused Crowley’s borrowed robe to slide softly up and down over his knees while his phone bumped against his thigh. The sensation made him briefly nostalgic for a week in 1967 with a few adventurous young satanists and improvised restraints. Lost in his own memories, Crowley paused at the top of the stairs for a moment. Every now and then he felt the weight of his hundreds of years.

The door to Sparky’s bedroom - which had played host to the first round of the evening’s entertainment - had been open before, but was now closed. Taking a moment to listen properly told him that Dean, Bear, and Sir Knight were still eating their midnight snack in the hot tub, but more importantly he also heard Sparky’s breathing inside the room. Sparky was probably expecting him to knock, which was why Crowley let himself in and closed the door behind him.

The room had been tidied since he had seen it last. Discarded clothing had been sorted by owner into neat piles atop the chest of drawers. Empty beer bottles had been replaced with a bottle of ice wine and the set of crystal that Sparky apparently preferred to use. Most notably, the soiled blanket had been removed and replaced with a seemingly identical one, atop which sat Sparky, back to the headboard, wine glass in hand. His legs stretched out before him, crossed at the ankle, were bare from the knee down thanks to the robe that was the twin of the one Crowley wore. He had removed the bandana restraining his hair so that it fell in artless disarray, the front still standing up out of long habit. The smile on his face said that, despite what Crowley might have thought, Sparky hadn’t expected him to knock after all.

Crowley made a show of looking around. “Hello again, sweetheart. Love what you’ve done with the place.”

Sparky’s smile widened and he gestured broadly with his wine glass. “Come on in, make yourself at home.”

With a smile of his own, Crowley set his Scotch on the bedside table, then sat on the bed and casually reclined until his head was cushioned sideways upon Sparky’s lap. His arm draped over Sparky’s leg, fingers resting upon firm muscle. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Sparky chuckled and brought his free hand up to rest on Crowley’s chest. “That’s not what I meant, but you won’t hear me complaining.”

His fingers slid beneath the edge of Crowley’s robe and drifted through chest hair to brush over a nipple, to which Crowley responded by reaching up his free hand to do the same to Sparky. “I hope not. I promised you my full attention. I’d be absolutely devastated if you were to complain after that.”

The amusement left Sparky’s face, replaced by a look of curious insight. His hand moved up, fingers skimming over Crowley’s skin, then beard. He rubbed a thumb over Crowley’s lip. Crowley parted his lips to lick Sparky’s thumb, then sucked it into his mouth, stroking the underside with his tongue. For his part, Sparky remained remarkably composed. Were it not for his increased heart rate, Crowley would think him unaffected. Nodding once, as if confirming something to himself, Sparky said, “I guess we’ll see. On your knees, Pratchett.”

Careful to remain outwardly calm, Crowley inwardly savoured the little thrill that went through him at those words. It had been so long since someone had dared to order him around, to take control, without ill intent. He rolled over and got up on hands and knees. “Like this, or did you have something else in mind?”

Instead of answering, Sparky stared in silent contemplation for a moment before setting his wine glass on the bedside table. His movements were precise as he slid off of the bed to stand behind Crowley, eyes continuing to assess the situation as he moved. In response, Crowley remained perfectly still, not even moving when Sparky untied Crowley’s robe and took the soft fleece belt out of the belt loops. “Tell me if I’m wrong,” said Sparky, “and I’ll stop. Now, up on your knees, hands behind your back.”

If someone had asked Crowley his plans for the evening an hour ago, his answer would have been much different then. Plans change. Crowley got up on his knees and put his hands behind his back, his robe falling open as he did so. “You’re not wrong. Although, as delightful as that fluffy thing would feel around my wrists, I’d wager you have something more appropriate in yon closet.”

There was a moment before Sparky fully processed the ramifications of Crowley’s words. “I have a few things actually, but I wasn’t sure…” Though Crowley couldn’t see Sparky’s face, he could easily picture the shock in that realization. When Sparky spoke again, it was in a whisper. “How did you know? I’ve never told anyone, not even my brothers.”

There was no way Sparky would appreciate knowing that Crowley had searched the entire room beforehand. He shrugged dismissively. “Please. Ask anyone with something to hide. At least half of them keep it in their closet. Well? Shall I assume I’ve won?”

In silence, Sparky slowly walked over to the closet and opened the door. He hesitated a moment before sliding open the secret compartment. He then stood and stared for at least a minute, clearly torn. Finally, he grabbed his selection and closed the closet on any possible misgivings. There had been handcuffs in the secret compartment - Crowley had seen as much earlier - but when Sparky turned around, what he held was a still-sealed shipping box. He tore off the tape and ripped through packing materials efficiently and extracted a set of leather cuffs with straps meant to fasten elsewhere. Crowley didn’t bother to hide his interest. “Well now, I haven’t been on this end of that in quite some time.”

The tension immediately drained from Sparky’s shoulders and he exhaled a sigh of relief. “Safe word?”

Crowley barely hesitated before responding, “Poughkeepsie.”

With raised eyebrows, Sparky’s lips twitched upwards, but all he said was, “Alright. If at any time you’re not comfortable, say Poughkeepsie and we’ll stop.”

Elsewhere in the building, Bear and Sir Knight were protesting a need for sleep, despite Dean’s creative suggestions. Dean gave in and claimed he would occupy himself with his phone for awhile by the fire. Sir Knight left to get blankets and pillows for the sofa. Reasonably confident they would be uninterrupted, Crowley nodded his agreement.

Sparky stroked the leather cuff with his thumb, his expression pensive. Drawing in a deep breath, his eyes met Crowley’s and he smiled in a way that would leave a lesser being weak in the knees. He then moved around the bed to stand behind Crowley once more. The fingers of one hand traced a path from Crowley’s left shoulder and down his back, taking the robe with them. It made a soft sound when it landed on the bed, then again when Sparky tossed it on the floor.

The first touch of leather brushed Crowley’s wrist, smooth and slightly cold, sending the most delightful shiver through him. There was the briefest pause, then the cuff closed over his wrist, the leather snug but not uncomfortably so. The buckle was fastened and then the same to his other wrist. His hands were bound a few inches apart to allow for the strap between them, the thought of which had him half hard.

Fingertips brushed along his inner thigh, up and back down, then tapped back and forth between his knees, just above where he knelt on the bed. “Spread ‘em wide,” came Sparky’s voice from behind him, cold and commanding. “Beast like that needs to be on a leash.”

“Oh?” Crowley obligingly widened his stance. “And what will you do once my _beast_ is safely leashed?”

Those fingers slid back up his inner thigh. “I’ll use you.” The gentlest touch cupped his bollocks. “I’ll take my pleasure from you.” The fingers closed around him, gripping his sack just short of painful. “Then the rest depends on you. Show me how well you can follow instructions. Stay still and don’t move.”

Despite knowing exactly what was coming next, it was still difficult to comply. The fingers grasping him so tightly _pulled_ , stretching down, so the other hand could then enclose his bollocks in the remaining leather strap, like a collar around the base attached to the cuffs by a short length of leather secured by padlocks at either end. He made every effort to stay still, but it was an order that was designed to be impossible to follow perfectly. The awkward position made him have to constantly keep readjusting his stance so he wouldn’t fall over, which necessitated slight movements of his back and shoulder muscles, which in turn moved his hands and tugged at the strap fastened around his bollocks. Which, incidentally, felt fantastic.

He wasn’t entirely surprised when his micro-adjustments prompted a firm hand to spank his arse. Still, even knowing it was coming was insufficient to save him. The sharp smack upset his precarious balance and he fell onto his side. Sparky’s voice behind him sounded amused. “Well, that didn’t take long. You just can’t resist defying me, can you, Pratchett?”

All of the little tugs on his bollocks had him at full salute already. Crowley attempted to remain entirely still on his side. “Terribly sorry. I’ll try harder, M’lord.”

There was a moment of silence, and then, “See that you do. Now, if you can’t stay still, get over here and suck my dick.”

He had fully expected it, but oh that was cruel. The movements necessary to turn around, not to mention get into a position where fellatio was possible - Crowley’s cock betrayed him, wordlessly telling Sparky just how much he would enjoy trying to obey such a command. He found that arching his back gave him a bit of play in the strap connecting the two sets of cuffs. He was thus able to get to his knees again, but had not yet turned around when there was a knock at the door. Both Sparky and Crowley froze, so the room was utterly silent when the door opened to admit Dean, who started talking before he was even in the room. “Hey, hope I’m not interrupting, but, what the fuck, Crowley!”

Crowley’s back was facing the door, giving Dean a clear view of his bound hands and genitals. For a moment he considered trying to explain, maybe make a flippant remark, but no. He had voluntarily given up control to Sparky and he wasn’t going to take it back before he was ready. Head held high, Crowley waited in silence for Sparky to deal with the situation.

Unable to see either of them, it was disconcerting when the room went silent. Crowley was on the verge of trying to turn around when Sparky said, “It’s a good thing you’re here, Dean. I think Pratchett’s the sort of guy who needs a lot of attention, possibly more than I can handle on my own. Care to lend a hand?”

Though he couldn’t see it happen, it was almost possible to hear Dean’s grin. “Oh _hell_ yes. I’m in.”

“Oh good.” Sparky returned to caressing Crowley’s inner thigh while he spoke. “Tell you what, you can take over for me. Find a comfortable spot on the bed to lay down so he can suck you off. That’ll free me up so I can give him a proper fucking.”

And if that wasn’t the best thing Crowley had heard in ages, it was only because he had never intended for Dean to see him in such a vulnerable state. Plans would need to be adjusted, yet again. At least he wouldn’t have to turn around. Dean prowled around the bed to the other side, then rolled over to lay in the middle, his head on the pillows. Crowley refused to make eye contact. With Dean’s arrival, the scintillating torment binding him had become a background note scarcely worthy of his attention.

Apparently he waited too long, because Sparky slipped two fingers under the leather strap and tugged on it, just enough to refocus Crowley’s attention. There was the click of a plastic lid opening, the squelching sound of something being squeezed from a bottle, and then freshly lubed fingertips circling his arsehole. In order for those fingers to do their work, the strap was constantly being moved. Crowley mentally reevaluated his tormentor’s skill. “Oh, and Pratchett,” Sparky added, “You’re not allowed to come until I say otherwise. You’ll have to earn that.”

Inwardly, Crowley cursed. It was, again, no less than he had expected, but still, he had hoped. And again, his cock betrayed his excitement at the command. Traitorous thing that it was, it had gone untouched thus far and was still rock hard and leaking. The tip of one finger slowly worked inside him. Though he had no need to breathe, he drew a deep breath and said only, “As M’lord commands.”

A simple flex of Sparky’s hand tightened his bonds. The constant low-grade pain spiked up a notch, as did his arousal. Leaving his fingers where they were, Sparky pressed against Crowley’s back and softly growled in his ear, “His dick won’t suck itself. Consider this your first warning.”

Crowley had no intention of disobeying, but the thought of possible punishments entertained him, especially when paired with some of the other things he had seen in the closet. Something to consider for next time, perhaps. He nodded and turned his thoughts to the problem of how to avoid falling on his face. With his hands behind his back, there weren’t many options. If he could have moved his legs, he could have somewhat controlled his fall, but Sparky’s hand prevented that. Reluctantly, Crowley concluded that he would have to faceplant into Dean’s crotch if unassisted. “Begging your pardon, but might I request a bit of assistance? I have no desire to accidentally injure your meat and two veg, and I fear I might do so with an uncontrolled descent.”

In response, Dean untied his robe, then smirked and covered his most vulnerable parts with his hands. “Nothin’ to fear, it’s all taken care of. C’mon down.”

Well then. He was on his own. Though Crowley knew he could easily be free of his bonds, that wasn’t the point. Eyes closed, he turned his head to one side and tipped forward. For a half a second, he was falling. Blessedly, Sparky had managed to reclaim his hand before Crowley’s knees slid out from under him. His cheek should have landed on the back of Dean’s hand, or at best his thigh. Instead, a palm roughly caught him in the chest and lowered him down. Opening his eyes, he looked up to see the gloating smile on Dean’s face. The hand on his chest slowly eased him down, lining him up perfectly with the cock that was his mission.

Crowley flashed Dean a grateful smile, then attempted to lap at Dean’s cock with his tongue. The angle was all wrong. It would have been fine if he’d had his hands to prop himself up, but without them it was horribly awkward. With some difficulty, he managed to squirm around just enough to wrap his lips around the tip, then fell back down, unintentionally taking in far more at once than he had intended. It was then that Sparky returned to his chosen task, the vice around his bollocks pulling once more as Sparky worked his finger deeper. Crowley moaned around his mouthful of cock and Dean groaned, “Oh fuck, yes.”

A second fingertip worked in beside the first and for a moment, Crowley was incapable of anything else as he throttled down the urge to rut against the bed. Either Dean was feeling uncharacteristically merciful, or he was simply enjoying the chance to use Crowley as he pleased, because he began lifting and lowering Crowley bodily, manually controlling his own fellatio. The feeling of being used as Dean Winchester’s personal sex toy sent the most delightful shiver through him. Each motion of his body at Dean’s hands jostled the fingers in his arse, occasionally causing his bindings to briefly tighten. It was sublime.

Manhandled at both ends, Crowley allowed himself to enjoy the lack of any real responsibility. It was a simple matter to do to himself as he had to Dean earlier that evening, preventing himself from accidentally breaking the restrictions placed upon him. He was thus able to enjoy his chosen torments worry-free.

Shortly after the insertion of a third finger, Crowley’s jaw began to grow a little sore. His shoulders and chest ached from the strain of his bindings and the pressure on his bollocks was immense. Everything was proceeding exactly as it should. At least, it was, right up until Dean whispered ever so softly, scarcely moving his lips, “You kinky fucker. I know you can get out. That means you must really want this. Somethin’ tells me you’ll do whatever I tell you to right now.”

That voice combined with those words made Crowley glad of his precautions. His cock ached with the need for friction and when Dean spoke, those whisky-rough tones made matters so much worse. He wasn’t thinking quite clearly when, with some difficulty, he nodded around a mouthful of Little Dean.

The wicked smirk that crossed Dean’s lips was all at once arousing and a real concern. Some of that must have shown on Crowley’s face because Dean’s smile widened. He then continued, still too softly for Sparky to hear, “ _You_ are gonna screw up on purpose, however much it takes so Lord Dragon over there doesn’t let you come.”

A plethora of thoughts paraded through Crowley’s head, most of which circled around _why the Hell should I do that?_ He did his best to convey that with his face. He must have succeeded because Dean waggled his eyebrows and said, “How much do ya trust me to make it worthwhile?”

For a brief moment, Crowley calculated the odds of Dean being true to his word. While human, Dean Winchester was fairly reliable, but demonic Dean was still a relative unknown. Some aspects had changed and some had not, but it was still too soon to know anything for certain.

Dean was watching him think around a mouthful of cock, continuing to lift and lower while showing no signs of being at all weary. Watching Dean watching him stopped Crowley’s thoughts in their tracks. The odds didn’t matter. However maddening Sparky’s torments might become, Crowley wanted to know what Dean would consider worthwhile for Crowley. He put some genuine effort into trying to direct his tongue, winked once, then gave in to his desire for friction. The thrust of his cock against the satin bedspread gave him no relief, pulled away from the fingers attempting to prep him, and again caused said fingers to tighten the leather chokehold around his bobbles.

There was a pause in which Sparky didn’t touch him at all. Dean sent an enquiring look over Crowley’s shoulder. Whatever message he received in response prompted Dean to grin. Crowley wasn’t left to wonder for long; a moment later, the fingers withdrew, then Dean lifted him up and dropped him to the side. A quick turn of his head was all that saved Crowley from the faceplanting he had been certain of before.

From his new position, he was unable to see much beyond Dean’s hip, which he could barely lick if he were so inclined. Crowley opened his mouth to protest such treatment, but he didn’t even get out a full word before Sparky’s voice spoke behind him, cold and clipped. “That’s two. You know exactly how this works. I’ll admit, that wasn’t working the way I’d planned - you weren’t doing nearly enough work - but we’re going to fix that. First though -”

That was all the warning he received before Sparky soundly smacked his arse, causing Crowley to recoil, which again tensed his bindings. His nerves were afire with pain and need and it was no longer possible to separate the two. With difficulty, he suppressed the desire to rut against the bed again. It was too soon for believability and he wanted to keep his options open. Instead, tucked his feet up to emphasize his backside and said, “Thank you, M’Lord. Would M’Lord like another?”

There was a little huff of disbelief, then Sparky said, “Fuck. Em’s gonna love you, Pratchett. Me,” he continued to speak as he walked back to the closet and opened it again, “I think you’re proving to be difficult. I think you can do better.”

There was the sound of a plastic package being opened, then the smell of brand new silicone, which was soon masked slightly by the addition of freshly-squeezed Astroglide. Crowley figured out what Sparky had planned before the silicone plug got anywhere near his arse, so he spread his legs as best he could and said, “Thank you, M’Lord. That should be most helpful.”

Sparky said nothing, but Crowley could practically hear him trying to work out the meaning of Crowley’s words. He must have shrugged it off, because a few moments later, the cool, slick plug slid home in Crowley’s neglected hole. The protruding end put the slightest strain on his bindings, just enough to keep him on edge. Sparky didn’t give him time to adjust before demanding, “Off the bed and on your knees, Pratchett.”

Oh, that was just unfair. To get off the bed, he would have to move back on his knees, then slide over the edge, which would of course drag on his dangly bits on the way down. It would be a taste of friction for his cock at the cost of more pain for his bollocks. It was a direct order though, so he obeyed without question, with events playing out precisely as he had anticipated. On the floor, he dragged himself up to kneel, his torso leaning against the bed for support.

Moments later, Dean slid over to sit on the edge of the bed, directly in front of Crowley. Dean’s feet planted one to either side of him, and Crowley wasted no time in resuming his task. Despite his hands being bound behind him, he was supported and in no danger of falling over, so was able to approach his task with proper enthusiasm. He began by licking a stripe up the underside of Dean’s cock, then swirled his tongue around the head. The moan he received in response was gratifying. As he parted his lips to begin sucking in earnest, Dean buried his fingers in Crowley’s hair and tugged. Crowley couldn’t help the groan that dragged out of him, vibrating around a mouthful of Dean.

It was difficult to establish a proper rhythm with his hands cuffed, but he tried his best. He bobbed his head and relaxed his throat, working his way down. He could have easily taken it all at once, but that wouldn’t have been as enjoyable for anyone involved. Taking his time, he worked his tongue up and down with each pass, pausing at the top to tongue the slit before plunging back down.

There was nothing quite like the pleasure of a good cocksucking, and Crowley wanted to be sure that Dean experienced the best he had to offer within the limitations imposed upon him. No sooner had his lips accepted the last inch of Little Dean, however, when Dean began to piston his hips, relentlessly fucking Crowley’s face. So much for finesse. Had he been human, it would have been difficult to remain composed under such circumstances. Crowley was done pretending though. He lifted his head for a slightly better angle, then held unflinching eye contact with Dean, who seemed briefly surprised, then grinned.

It was as if they were alone, the room’s third occupant forgotten. If he was still there, he made no sound, and Crowley was just as glad. He let his eyes flick to red, which prompted Dean’s to turn black, and they maintained that contact between them while Dean’s hips stuttered an irregular rhythm. A few more thrusts and Dean stiffened, his hands tightening around handfuls of Crowley’s hair as his cock pulsed, shooting his salty load deep down Crowley’s throat.

Gradually, Dean’s eyes faded back to green and Crowley felt his own do the same. Dean’s fingers released their death grip on his hair and it felt like a loss. Crowley rested his cheek against Dean’s firm thigh and felt those same fingers cord through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. That was when a soft strangled sound reminded them that they were not alone.

Sparky had been busy while his hands were unoccupied. The top of the chest of drawers had acquired a frosty pitcher of water, a prepackaged snack of some sort, and a steaming basin of wash water. The man in question had flattened himself against the wall, staring at Dean and Crowley as if unwilling to believe the evidence of his own two eyes. Crowley sighed and straightened up as best he could. “If you’re quite done cowering, M’Lord, I haven’t been given a proper fucking yet.”

That seemed to do the trick. Standing taller, Sparky lifted his chin, drew in a deep breath, and said, “And that’s three. Whatever you are, I’ll be taking my pleasure from you, but you do not have permission to come.”

Mission accomplished. Crowley had hoped to keep his options open a little longer, but at least he didn’t have to maintain that facade. He bowed his head. “Of course, M’Lord.”

Dean chuckled softly, then stood and retied his robe. “Hope you don’t mind if I watch.”

Crowley couldn’t help but feel a bit proud of how little Sparky’s voice wavered when he answered, “That’s fine. And after, you’re gonna tell me what’s up with your eyes.”

A sly half-smile curved Dean’s lips as he crossed to pour a glass of ice water. “I’ll leave that up to Lover Boy here. He should be able to manage a half decent explanation.”

Casting Dean an amused glance, Crowley shrugged. “Whatever M’Lord desires.”

Whether it was their calm responses, Crowley’s continued submissiveness, or Sparky’s as-yet unsated lust - most likely a combination of the three - Sparky nodded once and cautiously approached, stopping right behind Crowley. There was a jingling sound, then the click of a key in each of the locks that bound him. The leather strap connecting his cuffs to his bollocks fell to the floor, soon to be joined by the cuffs from his wrists. All that remained was the little cuff around his sack, unattached to anything, like a sad pretender to the power that tied off any hope of his pleasure.

“Get up,” said Sparky, his words hard and cold, “bend over the bed, arms out front, legs spread wide.”

He did as he was told, relieved that the bed was at that perfect height and he would at least have something soft to support him. The blanket felt smooth against his skin, the satin still slightly warm from where Dean had sat. Then warm hands teased at the plug in his hole before working it free. Those same hands warmed the lube before applying it generously, the gentle touch entirely counter to the harsh words.

A slick cockhead nudged at his hole, then pushed forwards with a slow, steady pressure. Though he knew there was no relief for him in sight, the need building inside him could not be denied. While Sparky pushed forwards, Crowley pushed back, filling the space inside him that ached to be filled. While he didn’t often bottom, it was undeniably nice to feel vital to his partner’s pleasure. Those warm hands gripped his hips firmly as Sparky said, “Not so fast. I know you’re desperate for me to fuck you, but you already gave up your happy ending. Stay still and let me take my time. Don’t worry, I’m still gonna give you a proper fucking, you just don’t get the satisfaction of finishing.”

Crowley couldn’t stop the shiver that coursed through him, nor did he want to. There was an amused chuckle from Dean on the other side of the room, but it barely registered. He held still and waited while Sparky filled him with excruciating slowness. When Sparky’s hips finally pressed up against his arse, Crowley’s breath caught in his throat as he waited. There was a moment that felt like an eternity before Sparky moved, withdrawing maybe an inch before thrusting in again.

Crowley’s thumbs rubbed against the smooth blanket while Sparky moved in slow, measured thrusts. The tension built up in his still-bound bollocks mounted higher by the minute, though the pace remained the same. Silence reigned in the room so that the only noises were the slapping of skin on skin and the moist sound of suction.

Having experienced and performed torture in Hell, Crowley knew worse tortures than Sparky could ever hope to conceptualize. That said, Sparky was managing just fine without any further education. Just when Crowley thought he knew what to expect, Sparky began angling his thrusts in search of that happiest of spots. When he found it, Crowley couldn’t help the groan that was driven from him, a low sound punched from his lungs.

Prostate located, Sparky was relentless in his assault, his uniform pace targeting the same spot every time. He missed so rarely that it became something to hope for; a brief moment of relief. Not allowed to thrust back, not allowed to come, the smooth satin blanket offering next to nothing in the way of friction, Crowley unashamedly panted and tightened his hands around fistfuls of blanket. It was exquisite torment.

The temptation to give in, to remove the binding power placed upon himself, was horribly tempting. Crowley had been on the edge for what felt like forever, unable to tip over that last step into bliss. But there was always pleasure to be found if he was patient, and he would never forgive himself if he bodged his chance to find out what Dean had offered. To that end, he held onto the blanket like the anchor it was and counted every unnecessary breath he took.

After one hundred and sixty-two unnecessary breaths, Sparky began to increase his pace. The renewed onslaught made Crowley’s vision a white haze, and if he hadn’t already tied himself off magically, he was certain he would have spent himself unintentionally. He simultaneously felt a profound gratitude and a burning resentment towards his past self.

He was on the verge of giving up and unbinding himself when Sparky’s perfectly measured rhythm faltered. What were once thrusts of clockwork precision became wildly erratic. The hands on Crowley’s hips tightened their grip, fingers threatening to leave bruises. The new pain was just enough to distract him until Sparky finally tensed and pulled Crowley tight, Sparky’s throbbing cock filling him deep inside.

With the lack of movement, Crowley was able to release his grip on the blanket, his stiff fingers opening reluctantly. He still wanted very much to grind against the bed until he found release, but that was off the table. Sparky’s fingers slowly released their hold on him; there would definitely be bruises. With a soft sigh, Sparky slid out of Crowley and moved to sit on the edge of the bed beside him. “Well done. Now, if I uncuff you, will you be able to keep it together?”

Raising his eyebrows briefly, Crowley nodded. “Yes, thank you M’Lord.”

Across the room, Dean got up from his chair and said, “Well, that was educational. Stef, thanks for lettin’ me watch. A real artist at work, man. I mean that. Crowley, dude, _that_ was fuckin’ impressive. If it were me in that situation,” Dean’s eyes found Crowley’s and his expression made it quite clear that he knew something had similarly affected him earlier in the evening, “I would’ve been cussin’ a blue streak.”

Crowley smiled, a tight, thin smile, waited just until Sparky was done unclasping his last leather cuff, then carefully stood. “That might be true, darling. You do seem to have a particularly obscene tongue. Though I would imagine the difference lies in choosing. If you were to choose to be in that situation, I’d wager you would be far more silently determined.”

Grinning, Dean shook his head. “Whatever, man. Can’t say I ain’t thought about it, but the idea just doesn’t tickle my fancy these days.”

Locating his robe on the floor, Crowley shrugged it on. He was about to go looking for the belt to tie it shut when Sparky held it up, then began to thread it through the loops for him. “Not that I’m not enjoying the conversation, but I believe you promised me an explanation. Normally I’d be concerned that in the four or five hours I’ve known you, I haven’t seen you eat anything, but now,” he shrugged. “What the hell are you guys?”

Dean and Crowley exchanged a glance. Dean gave a brief nod, so Crowley mustered up his patented King of the Crossroads honest face. “We’re demons.” Seeing Sparky beginning to panic as that thought processed, Crowley held up both hands to forestall it. “Woah, hold up. We’re on vacation. Now, I don’t know what sort of mental image you have of demons, but we have no agenda here beyond mutual pleasure for all involved.”

Clearly trying to come to terms with the idea, Sparky crossed to the bedside table and downed the rest of his wine. “So, you’re demons. On vacation. In North Dakota?”

Shrugging, Crowley knotted the belt of his robe and tried to ignore his aching jewels. “Don’t look at me, I wanted somewhere more upscale. The beer and heartache scene was all his idea.”

Frowning, Dean poured himself a glass of wine. “Hey, fuck you, I have awesome taste.”

Retrieving his own glass from the bedside table, Crowley raised it in Dean’s direction and took a sip before setting it down again. “You most certainly do. I am the most high quality anything you have ever associated with.”

Sparky cut through Dean’s attempted rejoinder, “This is insane. You guys have to see that, right? You can’t be demons. There’s no such thing.”

Rather than spend the rest of the evening in pointless debate, Crowley refilled Sparky’s glass with a snap of his fingers. He then retrieved a bottle of Craig and a proper glass from his private stores. “Your pardon. No insult intended. The Laphroaig was lovely, but there are times only Craig will do.”

While Sparky tried to rearrange a lifetime of assumed knowledge, Dean took a sip of his wine and grimaced. “Oi, Magic Man, got another glass?”

With a triumphant smirk, Crowley produced a second glass from the sleeve of his robe, just because he could. He took the time to manually pour them each a double, then sent Dean’s glass to his hand with a wink. Dean, heathen that he was, didn’t even bother to sample the aroma before he took a swig. His raised eyebrows and wide eyes were absolutely priceless. “Damn, this is some good shit.”

Crowley took a sip of his own, taking the time to properly enjoy having something nice for a change. He would probably be back to mediocre beer and pretzels again before long, so best to make the most of it. On a whim, he set down his glass beside his first, picked up his phone and toggled on the camera. He was no photographer, neither was anyone else taking pictures with a smart phone. With Dean centred in the frame, Crowley said, “Come on then, sweetheart, give us a smile.”

So of course Dean flipped off the camera and took another swig, which was exactly the photo that Crowley had wanted. The camera perfectly captured irritable-yet-amused Dean. Crowley silently added it to a brand new Flickr album which he named _Howling at the Moon_.

Sliding his phone back into the pocket of his robe, Crowley looked up to find Sparky staring at him curiously, his refilled wine as yet untouched. “You really are just on vacation, aren’t you? You’re not gonna torture me or steal my soul or anything?”

Taking another sip of his Craig, Crowley gestured with his glass towards Sparky’s wine. “Drink up. I swear, we’re not here to harm you or your brothers in any way. For one, I _buy_ souls, I don’t steal them. And two, in case you’ve forgotten, you just spent the past however long torturing _me_ , albeit consentually, which, incidentally, is the best sort of torture for all involved. I highly recommend it.”

The look that came over Sparky’s face at that could best be described as pained. “I’d normally be taking much better care of you right now. I’m a monster.”

Crowley smiled. “Hardly. You’re not even a demon, though I won’t hold that against you. I wouldn’t say no to whatever treatment you had planned though, minus the corn syrup-laden apocalypse supplies. Thing’s got more preservatives in it than Wayne Newton.”

That did it. Sparky chuckled and took a sip of his wine. “That’s fair. I can’t keep anything refrigerated out here, but anyone who actually eats should eat something after all that. I had planned on massaging you to sleep and staying with you through the night, but I don’t suppose you sleep either, do you?”

Sparky was barely done talking before Crowley had set down his drink on the table once more and sprawled face down on the bed. His words somewhat muffled by the pillow, he said, “Yes please.”

There was another chuckle and the sound of glass touching wood as Sparky put down his glass, then the sound of Dean’s bare feet approaching from across the room. Sparky’s gentle fingers tugged his robe down around his shoulders and began to work at the knots there. From the other side of the bed, Dean asked, “Mind if I stick around? I should probably… y’know.”

Sparky replied, “Yeah, of course. The main thing now is to provide positive touch; praise and physical contact. I dunno, do demons do praise?”

Dean stopped at the side of the bed. “Yeah… how ‘bout I’m another pair of hands and you do the words thing.”

The hands on Crowley’s shoulders paused, then resumed. “Alright then, how about you massage his hands. Pratchett, wanna just put your arms out by your sides?”

Crowley was happy to comply, already imagining Dean’s hands on his. Sparky got back to massaging and Dean settled down next to Crowley’s head, one hand in both of his. A few minutes passed and Crowley was just beginning to feel relaxed when Dean leaned in a bit and whispered, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You and your blue balls are gonna be sandwiched between me ‘n’ Stef all night, snuggled up real damn close. You don’t sleep. He might not know, but I do. If you don’t erupt on your own, I’ll see you for round four on the couch in front of the fireplace a couple hours before sunup.”

He might have meant it as further torment, but as far as Crowley was concerned, the night continued to improve. Closing his eyes, he settled in to enjoy every moment of his massage.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone. I wish that hadn't taken so long, but first moving to a new house and then the holiday season interfered with my writing time. You don't know how glad I am to be able to share this fic with you all. Thank you for waiting so patiently. Next up on my writing to do list will be another installment in A Man and His Dog.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos give me life. Without your affirmation, the words don't flow. If you're on Tumblr, you can find me there as @thayerkerbasy


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